


tear down my reason

by morganoconner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottoming from the Top, Demon Dean Winchester, Enthusiastic but definitely a bit dubious, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possessiveness, Rimming, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 10:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20673968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: Dean laughs. He kneels down by the bed, reaches out and runs his fingers through Castiel's hair. For a moment he's soft, but then he grips, and yanks, until Castiel's eyes meet his. Dean's eyes are inky black like an oil slick, like the deepest obsidian, likedamnation. "No, Castiel," he says, and it sounds fond in a way Castiel can't understand or articulate. "I'm the bad guy."





	tear down my reason

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://salt_burn_porn.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://salt_burn_porn.livejournal.com/)**salt_burn_porn** challenge, for the prompt _i'm the bad guy_.
> 
> Please pay heed to the tags, particularly the "dubious consent" warning because it's definitely borderline.
> 
> This fic badly wanted to be a 50k epic. Instead you get this.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," Castiel says.

"Oh yeah?" Dean glances over, raises an eyebrow, smirks. He is unashamed of his nudity, shadows caressing his form in the low light. "How was it supposed to be, then?"

There's an answer, there _was_ an answer, Castiel knows. He's forgotten it, though. He's forgotten many things, it seems like. "You are the Righteous Man," he tries, and the words sound right, he remembers being given his task, _save the Righteous Man, raise him from perdition_. But it feels like it was so long ago. How long have they been here? How long has Dean kept him trapped in this vessel, this room, this bed?

Dean laughs. He kneels down by the bed, reaches out and runs his fingers through Castiel's hair, and for a moment he's soft, but then he grips, and yanks, until Castiel's eyes meet his. Dean's eyes are inky black like an oil slick, like the deepest obsidian, like _damnation_. "No, Castiel," he says, and it sounds fond in a way Castiel can't understand or articulate. "I'm the bad guy."

He is, he _is_, because Castiel was too late, because he could bring the soul out of Hell and he could heal the body it once belonged to, but there's no way to save a soul already damned, no way to wash the demonic residue away once it's taken over. He'd tried, even knowing it couldn't be done, he'd _tried_, and it had cost him.

Is still costing him.

"Not fully," he says anyway, because just as his grace is stained with what he took from Dean, so too is Dean's soul stained with fragments of his grace he left behind. He knows this, can see it shining there just below the surface.

"Close enough," Dean says, and now he climbs onto the bed, movements languid and graceful as he straddles Castiel. "Only a bad guy would do what I've done to an angel, right?" He leans down, hands on Castiel's bare chest, until his mouth grazes Castiel's ear. "Over…" a lick, "and over…" that turns into a suckle, "and over…" that ends with a bite, and now Castiel moans, arches into Dean's weight like he can't help himself.

And, Father help him, he _can't_.

Dean's laugh vibrates through his chest, and Castiel feels his toes curl in response. His cock, so recently spent, is already hardening again. He wants to grab onto Dean and hold on for dear life, but his wrists are tightly bound to the headboard, sigils blocking him from using his strength, and the worst part is that he's not sure he would even if he could. He manages to gasp, "You took only what was freely given," and takes great pleasure in the growl that elicits from Dean, whose teeth graze the side of his neck.

"Was it?" Dean demands.

Castiel doesn't know for sure, not anymore; everything since he came out of Hell has taken on a strange ethereal quality like what he imagines a dream might feel like. But it _feels_ true, feels like he'd always have given Dean anything he desired, feels like that was always meant to be his purpose. So he says, "Yes," and he means it.

Dean's smile is a slow curl, and his head tilts. "Look at you," he whispers, pushing himself up enough that he can stare down at Castiel with covetous eyes that flicker between demon-dark and human-bright, so different and yet so similar in how they are both so wanting, so intense, so _hungry_. "All tied up and ready for me to play."

_Yes, yes, please, yes,_ Castiel thinks, though he has enough presence of mind not to say it, knowing it will only make Dean tease him for longer.

"Do you want to play, Castiel?" Dean asks, his hand trailing from Castiel's belly up to his chest. His fingers find a nipple, and he flicks it, then pinches when it makes Castiel shudder with need.

"Yes," he chokes out, could not give any other answer if he tried.

"That's my angel," Dean says. He moves now, crawling over Castiel and up the bed until he's made it to the headboard and tangles his fingers with Castiel's as he drags himself up, back into a sitting position, holding himself just over Castiel's mouth. "You know the deal. Get me _nice_ and wet and I'll let you play."

Castiel leans up, eager enough to make Dean laugh, and it comes out on a gasp, which makes Castiel preen even as he's pressing a kiss against the dark hole. "Like this?" he asks, like they haven't done this before, like he doesn't know exactly what Dean wants of him.

"Lick," Dean orders, and Castiel does, lapping gently and trying not to squirm when Dean's hand releases his and migrates back down to Castiel's hair. The tug is gentle, the demand unspoken but clear. Castiel's tongue plunges in, and Dean moans, long and loud.

"That's it," Dean breathes, sinking down enough that Castiel no longer has to crane his neck. His thighs tremble, and his hand is greedy in Castiel's hair as he directs him to get Dean _fuller, looser, wetter_. Castiel does his best to comply, and is rewarded with a breathless, "Good angel."

Castiel whimpers when Dean starts to pull away, chases him until Dean laughs and swats gently at his chest.

"So greedy for it, such a slut for my ass, aren't you, Castiel?" He slides down, his movements liquid, his body molten. He nibbles at Castiel's chest. "_Aren't_ you?" he asks again, and bites.

"Yes!" Castiel cries, and it's the truest thing he thinks he's ever said. "Yes, Dean, please, _please_."

"Damn, you know I love it when you beg," Dean purrs. "Makes me wanna draw this out, make you so desperate you sob, make you _scream_ for it. But you got me so nice and ready, be a shame to waste that."

Castiel does weep, then, one aching sob of pure relief when Dean slinks further down and grins as his cock slides against Castiel's. He rubs there, once, twice, then sits up and scoots forward again. Teasing, but just enough, just enough so that in moments that stretch like hours, he's right where Castiel needs him to be, sinking down onto his cock like he was born to take Castiel inside, like Castiel was created to fill him.

"_Dean_," Castiel cries. "Dean, oh, God…"

The blasphemy delights the demon, black spilling into his eyes. "You love this," he pants, rising up with agonizing slowness, then sinking back down again. "Look at you. You were _wasted_ up in Heaven."

Was he? Possibly. Castiel doesn't want to think of Heaven, doesn't want to remember anything but Dean.

"Never giving you back," Dean says, and it's a growl now. "You're mine."

"Yes," Castiel gasps. "Yours." He has no soul to sell, but if he did, he'd give it to Dean without hesitation in this moment.

Dean snaps his fingers, and the bonds around Castiel's wrists fall away. He lunges up, catches Dean's waist with his hands, dragging himself up so he can kiss him, licking into Dean's mouth the way he licked into his ass as they rock against each other.

"You're mine," Dean says again, breathing the words into Castiel's mouth, a brand. "_Mine_."

Castiel can't answer with words, too lost to find any coherency in spoken language, but he bites at Dean's lip, pulls Dean hard against him and feels how it makes him tremble. Both of them chasing completion, desperate to be closer, desperate to be a part of each other, desperate for an ending even as they're desperate for it to never end.

It's Dean who lets go first this time, shouting Castiel's name as his release spills from him and coats Castiel's belly. Castiel doesn't stop moving, hips thrusting because he knows it's what Dean wants, knows Dean won't be satisfied until Castiel comes as well, an angel brought so low yet taken so high.

Dean drags a hand through the mess on Castiel's stomach and brings his fingers to Castiel's mouth. Castiel takes them deep without hesitation, eyes closed and body shuddering as he sucks and swallows and wishes for more. His own release is almost an afterthought to Dean's pleasure, and he whines his way through it even as Dean releases a long sigh of satisfaction.

"You're so good for me, Castiel," Dean says, eyes black and glittering as he removes his fingers from Castiel's mouth. Castiel whimpers. Dean shushes him, then feeds him some more of the come spattered over his front. "See, I'll always give you what you need."

Castiel's eyes are closed again, his whole body relaxing now as Dean's fingers caress his tongue.

Slowly, softly, Dean lays him down, then curls up around him, head resting on Castiel's chest. Castiel wants to ask about the restraints, wants to ask why Dean hasn't bound him again. He's never left Castiel untied after they finish.

Dean, it seems, knows his thoughts even if he doesn't dare speak them aloud. "I don't think the bindings are really necessary anymore, are they?" he asks, sounding smug, sleepy, and satisfied. "You're my good angel. You're not going anywhere, are you?"

Castiel's arms are around Dean, his face buried in Dean's hair. "No," he whispers, because where would he go? Dean is right here, and he belongs to Dean.

Wasn't it always supposed to be this way?

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Nine Inch Nails' _Closer_.


End file.
